Introducing the Wounded
We line the hallways, heads between our knees
like children in tornado drills. Or else we pivot
the piano, center of the room, to sing the songs
of glue and fumble through the dance of broken
pieces. Head held low and pelvis scooped
voices chipped from glaciers of rejection.
Orphaned, damaged, illegitimate, we take support
in wooden shoulders of open doors, find comfort
in the balm of blink and exhale. Any piece
of privacy provides the serum for its poison ambush
if we knew to look. Every stutter in the heartbeat
a rebuke against the need to scab, refusal
to evolve the truer person underneath.